"Sarah plays the violin," said May, who hated playing in company herself. "She plays it beautifully. She's going to have lessons."

"Then bring your violin and let me hear you," said Mrs. George to Sarah; "it is a most stylish instrument."

"I will," said Sarah.

"Oh, is Flossie to come, Aunt George?" asked May, as they shook hands.

"Flossie? No. I can-_not_ do with Flossie," replied Mrs. George, in a tone which was enough to remind May that the very last time they had visited their aunt, Flossie had been clever enough to break a beautiful Venetian gla.s.s, which was, as Mrs. George had remarked pathetically over the fragments, simply of priceless value.

CHAPTER XII

SARAH MAKES AN IMPRESSION

"What a shame!" said Flossie, when she heard of the invitation. "Just like the nasty old thing, to remember an accident that I couldn't help.

Not that I care! I shall enjoy myself far better at home"; and Flossie caught hold of Minnie's arm, and stalked along the Parade as if she cared so little that she did not want to hear any more about that great lady, her Aunt George.

"What did you think of her?" May asked of Sarah.

"Is she very ill?" Sarah asked, thinking of the bath-chair and her aunt's languid wrists and tones.

"Ill?--no! Ma says she's a hy-po-chon-driac," returned May, p.r.o.nouncing the long word in syllables. "That's fancying yourself ill when you ain't. See? But all the same, Aunt George is very stylish."

"She's not half so nice as Auntie," Sarah flashed out.

"No, she isn't! But she's a great deal stylisher than Ma is," May returned. "Didn't you hear the way she told the man to go on?

'Go-on-Chawles!'" and May leant back on the seat, slightly waved a languid hand, flickered her drooping eyelids, and gave a half-languid, half-supercilious smile.

It was a fine imitation of Mrs. George's _stylish_ airs, and Sarah was lost in admiration of it.

"I wonder," she remarked presently, after thinking the question over, "I wonder if she eats her dinner like that; because, if she does, it must generally get cold before she has half finished it."

"Oh, Aunt's much too stylish to eat much," May explained. "She nibbles at this and picks at that. You'll see to-night."

And Sarah did see--saw that, in spite of her airs and her nibbling and her picking, Mrs. George contrived to put a good meal out of sight--quite as much as ever her sister-in-law could manage to do. That evening was also a new experience to Sarah; it was so much more stately than anything she had seen before.

Mr. and Mrs. George Stubbs lived in a very large house in a large square in the best part of Brighton. A resplendent footman received them when they got out of the cab--yes, they had a cab, though it was only a short way from their own house--and a solemn butler ushered them into Mrs.

George's presence. She wore a tea-gown of soft yellow silk, with a very voluminous trailing skirt, and showers of white lace and broad yellow ribbons about it. It was a garment that suited the languid air, the quivering eye-lids, the weak wrists, and the soft, drawling voice to perfection.

The resplendent footman had relieved Sarah of her violin-case and carried it upstairs for her. Mrs. George motioned to it as he announced her visitors. "With great care, Chawles," and "Chawles" put it down on a chair beside the inlaid grand piano as if it were a baby and might squeal.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "With great care, Chawles."]

"How are you, dears?" Mrs. George said, giving each a limp and languid hand. "How oppressive the evening is!" Then to "Chawles," "Let tea be served."

Very soon tea was announced, and they went downstairs. It was all new to Sarah--the large, s.p.a.cious dining-room, with its rich, costly art-furniture; the pretty round table, with flowers and pretty-coloured gla.s.ses, with quaint little figures holding trays of sweets or preserves, or wheeling barrows of tiny ferns or miniature palms.

And the board was well-spread, too. There was salmon, salad, and a boiled chicken covered with white, frothy sauce. There was an aspic jelly, with eggs and green peas, and certain dark things which May told her afterwards were truffles; and there were several kinds of sweet dishes, and more than one kind of wine.

To Sarah it was a resplendent feast--as resplendent as the gorgeous footman who stood midway between her chair and May's, only a little in the rear; the solemn butler keeping guard over his mistress, whom he served first, as if she had been a royal queen.

"Now you shall play to me," Mrs. George said to Sarah, when they had got back to the drawing-room again.

Sarah rose obediently

"What shall I play?" she asked.

"What _can_ you play?" Mrs. George asked, in reply.

"Oh, a great many things," Sarah said modestly.

"Let Sarah play what she fancies," put in May, who had established herself in a low, lounging chair, and was fanning herself with a fan she had found on a table at hand with the closest imitation of Mrs. George she could manage; "she always plays the best then."

"Very well," Mrs. George said graciously. So Sarah began.

She felt that in all her life before she had never played as she played then. The influence of the luxurious meal of which they had just partaken was upon her. The exquisite coloured gla.s.s, the sweet-scented flowers, the smell of the fragrant coffee, the stately servants moving softly about with quiet footsteps and smooth gestures, each and all had made her feel calm and peaceful; and now the soft-toned drawing-room, with its plush and lace hangings, its delicate china, its Indian embroideries, and those two quiet figures lying back in the half light, making no movement except the slow waving to and fro of their fans, completed the influence. It was all food to Sarah's artistic soul, and she made the Amati speak for her all that was pa.s.sing through her mind.

Mrs. George was spell-bound. She actually forgot to fan herself in the desire not to miss a single note. Nay, she did more, she forgot to be languid, and sat bolt upright in her chair, her head moving to and fro in time with Sarah's music.

"Why, child, you are a genius!" she exclaimed, as Sarah came to a close and turned her speaking eyes upon her for comment.

"That's just what Papa said," put in May, adjusting her language to her company.

"If you go on--if you work," Mrs. George continued, "your violin will be your fortune. You will be a great woman some day."

Sarah's great eyes blazed at the thought of it; her heart began to beat hard and fast.

"Do you really think so, Aunt George?" she asked.

"I really do. I am sure of it. But, child, your violin seems to me a very good one. Where did you get it?"

"Father gave it to me; it was his grandfather's," said Sarah, holding it out for inspection. "It is an Amati."

"It is worth five hundred pounds," said May, who was eminently practical, and measured most things by a pounds, shillings, and pence standard.

"Of course--if it is an Amati," murmured Mrs. George, becoming languid again. "But go on, my child. I should like a little more."

So Sarah played and played until the room grew darker and darker, and gradually the shadows deepened, until it was only by the lamps from the square that she could distinguish the outlines of the figure in the yellow sweeping robes.

It was like a shock when the door was gently opened and the footman came in, bearing a huge lamp with a crimson shade. Then the coffee followed, and before very long one of the servants came back, and said that the cab for the young ladies had come.

"You have given me great pleasure," said Mrs. George to Sarah; "and when Mrs. Stubbs comes back I must make an afternoon party, and Sarah shall play at it. I have not been so pleased for a long time." And then she kissed them both, and with "good-night" they left her.

"Won't Ma be pleased!" remarked May, with great satisfaction, as they drove along the Parade. "I shan't mind a bit her being vexed that Flossie wasn't asked. Really, Sarah, I never saw Aunt George so excited before. She's generally so die-away and all that."

But Sarah was hardly listening, and not heeding at all. With her precious Amati on her knee, she was looking away over the moonlit sea, thinking of what her aunt had said to her. "If you go on--if you work--your violin will be your fortune. You will be a great woman."